


Data Cascade

by Spirit (TheGhostlyFeline)



Series: The Erotic Adventures Of A Man And His Robot [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Audiophile, Coming Untouched, Computer Viruses, Dirty Talk, Drug-Induced Sex, Established Relationship, Hank could totally start an ASMR channel, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Original Characters mentioned - Freeform, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, References to Drugs, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGhostlyFeline/pseuds/Spirit
Summary: Connor makes a small mistake at work. Hank has to deal with the consequences.





	Data Cascade

It was a slow day at the DPD.

Hank didn’t actually mind boring days at work; if he was stuck here filling out forms, then it meant he didn’t have to go poking around some gory murder scene out on the field. And of course Connor didn’t mind either- as long as he had something productive to do, it was a good day.

It was also a good chance to look through some cases they’d been forced to put a little lower on their priorities, from just being swamped with other homicides or androicides that week.

One such lower-priority case was the DT300 murder-suicide that had taken place about a week and a half ago. Two androids, both of the same model, had been found dead in an alleyway downtown- one of them had been brutalized and had sustained so much damage to their mind palace that they could not be revived, and the other had her thirium pump regulator missing, located a few meters away. It had looked to be a pretty open-and-shut case once Connor had scanned the scene; a struggle had broken out between the two, and the killer had struck the victim over the head with a metal pipe several times, then torn out their own pump regulator themselves and thrown it away.

Things had gotten confusing once Hank started looking into who the androids actually were. Before the revolution they’d both been “auto-artists”, designed for the tedious work of drawing tween frames in cartoons and graphical animations. Each individual had been employed by two separate animation studios, and they apparently had never even met each other before the killing. Neither of them had a criminal record, or any signs of mental illness.

“D’you think a virus could’ve done it? Turned the killer violent, or made her think the victim was a giant cockroach or somethin’?” Hank had asked idly. Connor had cocked his head to consider the query. The question of the threat of computer viruses had posed a hefty threat to all androids ever since the revolution, and no matter how many times it was asked- whether by Hank, or Fowler, or anyone else- Connor always felt that he had to take it very seriously.

“The killer was scanned and interrogated during a temporary revival not long after her body was recovered. No such programs or files were detected in her system. And no malware to date has been known to cause such a reaction in androids.” Connor shrugged, in his own stilted way. “We couldn’t pull all of her system data before her permanent shutdown, though. Much of it would have been lost.”

Hank grimaced slightly in response. If not a virus, then what could have driven her to such an act? Could she really have just snapped for no reason? After all, random murder was already well-tread territory for humans. Once you give a species free will, then they’re just as capable of committing atrocities as anyone else, right?

After the long period of quiet, Connor had looked up from his terminal at Hank, noticing his frustration.

“A limited amount of data _was_ copied from the DT300 during the interrogation. Did you want us to go over it? Most viruses leave imprints of their activities all through the system.”

Hank nodded with tired eyes. “Okay, sure.”

The data was stored in a digital folder on an SSD in the evidence room. The evidence for the DT300 case was not the only data on the SSD- it was just one folder in a vast offline archive, as the precinct had hundreds of SSDs for storing hundreds of petabytes of data, all arranged by the date of acquisition. It was all kept offline for various reasons, not in the least because much of the data in the evidence room was infected with various forms of malware. In fact, in many cases the malware itself _was_ the evidence.

Taking it back to his terminal, Connor booted the digital evidence examination environment- a quarantined virtual drive with which to look at the SSD’s contents, and waited for the program to flash up **READY** before plugging in the SSD. Hank stood behind him, looking over his shoulder as he flicked through and pretending to know anything about what they were looking at. Connor didn't interface with the terminal directly this time; he scrolled through and accessed the files therein one by one with the mouse and keyboard.

After about five minutes of relative silence, Connor shook his head. “There’s no evidence of a virus here. It would have left records of its actions all over the place…” he looked back around at Hank. “It’s all just fragments of memories, motor function data, and other pieces of her operating system. It’s very unlikely that this was caused by a virus.”

Hank sighed and rolled his eyes. “ _Well_ , maybe she just didn't like seein’ her own face lookin’ back at her,” he remarked dryly.

A bare moment of awkward silence passed before Hank’s stomach curled into a ball. Connor would _not_ have found that funny at all. _God, I’m a fucking moron._

“Aah, I… shouldn’t have opened my... _stupid_ mouth,” he mumbled apologetically.

“That’s quite alright, Lieutenant.” Connor’s tone was level, but he didn’t turn to look at Hank as he shut down the data examination program and unplugged the SSD.

Hank could always tell when Connor was upset when nobody else could; he'd always turn the _expression_ of his emotions completely off like a switch, oddly enough becoming even more robotic than he usually was. “I’ll finish filing the paperwork on this, and then I think we should take our half-hour lunch break.”

“Sure.”

 _And by that, he means_ **_my_ ** _lunch break, and his staring-at-me-while-I-eat break,_ Hank mused as he returned to his desk.

Connor quickly returned from the evidence locker and sat back down at his terminal to work on the report. As soon as he touched the terminal to begin, he drew his hand back as if he’d been zapped by static electricity, recoiling with a jump.

Hank blinked at him. “...You okay?”

Connor flexed the fingers on his interfacing hand, the over-skin still retracted to show the shiny white plastic. “...I felt something unusual as I went to interface with the terminal.” he cautiously moved to interface again. No reaction this time.

“You didn’t catch anything from the SSD, did you?”

“No, the data examination program doesn’t allow any file to interact with any part of the computer or network other than itself while it’s running.” Connor gave Hank a momentary glance. “It’s more likely that a wire has come loose somewhere in my hand or wrist, and caused a minor short-circuit. I’ll make an appointment at the technician’s office to get it examined after work.”

“Right. Never figured androids could get RSI’s, but there you go, I guess...” Hank mumbled and trailed off.

Connor polished the report in just under 30 seconds. Hank had tried to busy himself with files from another case as he’d waited, but it was difficult with both his partner’s sheer speed and his own guilty awkwardness distracting him. He didn’t put up any kind of a fight when Connor got up from his desk with an even-toned “I’m done, let’s go.” though.

___

  


“I’m sorry I said that,” Hank uttered as soon as they were on the street. He specifically made sure to enunciate clearly- maybe if he owns this apology properly, he can stop feeling like garbage. “I wasn’t thinkin’ about what I was saying, and… once you’re on the force as long as I’ve been, you start usin’ humor to shield yourself from that shit.”

Connor actually looked back at him this time. “It’s alright, Hank.” his tone was noticeably warmer than before. “I was trying not to make a big deal out of it.”

“Heh. That’s nice and all, Con, but you’re allowed to get pissed off sometimes.” Hank shrugged and fumbled with his keys. “God knows you’re fuckin’ placid enough for the both of us.”

They got in the car and drove towards Chicken Feed. Connor had long since ceased reminding Hank of the poor hygiene of the place, having realised that he just didn’t care. He wondered how the food here could possibly be better than at a similar, cleaner food stall only a couple blocks away. Then he remembered that Hank does not pay for his meals at Chicken Feed. Perhaps he should offer to pay for Hank’s lunches from now on.

The rest of the day followed pretty calmly. No new cases for homicide/androicide came in, which was always nice. Connor felt somewhat _off_ as the day wore on, but the feeling didn’t correlate to any specific errors his system brought up, and so he did his best to swallow it in favor of focusing on work. They filed casework for a few more pending cases, and clocked off at 6:30 that evening.

As they got in the car to drive home, Hank gave Connor a sidelong glance. “What’s eatin’ you, Con?”

Connor blinked back at Hank. “Nothing. Why?”  
“You’ve seemed kinda off with the f̷a̷ir͏ies all day.” Hank shrugged.

“I’ve simply been focused on casework, that’s all.”

“I’ve _seen_ you focused on c̛asework before, Con. Today you seemed more…” Hank trailed off, unsure. “Out of it?”

Connor had noticed a small dip in his own productivity output throughout the day, but he’d thought it inconsequential enough that Hank probably wouldn’t notice. Apparently, he was wrong.

He turned to give Hank a small, cheeky smile. “You’ve said you don’t like it when I scan your vitals to gauge your health and emotional state. Aren’t your observations of me similar?”

Hank narrowed his eyes in playful annoyance and sighed- or that might have been a snicker, actually. “That’s different. It’s _weird_ when you spit out my BPM, blood alcohol level and goddamn whatever else just from lookin’ at me.”

“And the number of times that you’ve known what I’m thinking about, or how I’m feeling before I do, isn’t weird at all. Is that right?”

Hank actually chuckled at that. “I’m just very percepti̢ve.”

“So am I.”

Connor suddenly felt something _weird_ shift around in his software, causing him to blink erratically. An error pop-up materialised right in the middle of Connor’s vision, making him flinch. Which made Hank flinch in the driver’s seat next to him, though less dramatically.

“Connor?”

“Just a random system error.” Connor shook his head and closed his eyes for a second to examine the error message.

**_An Unknown Error Occurred_ **

_If The Error Persists, Restart BT340G98.exe_

He didn’t know what BT340G98.exe was. He furrowed his brow in concern as he closed out the dialogue box.

“You get ‘random system errors’ like that a lot?” Hank asked curiously.

“Yes, actually. I believe CyberLife deliberately wrote my Operating System without bug-testing it, as they believed at the time that unstable software was a possible cause of Deviancy. They wanted to use me to test their hypothesis.”

“...That’s fucked up.”

“Maybe. They did not believe Deviants to be people at the time, and so-”

“No, it’s definitely fucked up.” Hank said firmly. His tone was harsh, but he glanced over at Connor with a sympathetic look.

Another error popped into his field of vision, and Connor blinked in irritation.

**_An Unknown Errǫr Occurred_ **

_If The Error Persists, R̷est̡a̛rt BT3̶40G98.exe_

At the same time that Connor closed out of the message, he felt another shivering wave move through his software. He realized that it was very evocative of the feeling of Hank inserting irresistible coding into his mind palace during their little game a few evenings ago…

“Hank. Where is your phone?” It was a stupid question, really, but Connor wanted to be certain.

“Huh? In my pocket.” Hank fished it out with one hand to demonstrate as he kept his eyes on the road. “Why?”

“You haven’t used the application I wrote since I gave it to you, have you?”

“No, and I wouldn’t do shit like that without you knowing about it, anyway.”

“I didn’t think so. I don’t remember it being plugged in since the night it was finished.”

Connor frowned. There was one possible conclusion that kept appearing in his logic centre, but he hoped it was wrong.

He had been quite adamant earlier today that he’d exercised the necessary digital hygiene to examine the contents of the evidence SSD without transferring any malware to the terminal or to himself. If he was wrong, that would be… _embarrassing_.

Connor isolated BT340G98.exe in its own quarantine folder and made a mental note to find out what its purpose was once they arrived home. He resolved to scan his work terminal tomorrow morning as soon as they got back to the precinct and delete anything he found out of place, and run a quick system diagnostic as soon as he got a moment away from Hank.

“Hey! Connor!” Hank barked, wrenching Connor back into the outside reality. “You stayin’ in the car?” The garage sat in front of them. Connor blinked in shock.

“We’re already here?”

“Yeah, you seemed pretty preoccupied by wh̴at̢ever that error was. You comin’ in or what?”

Connor frowned. “...Yes.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and marched into the house.

It was a twenty minute drive from the precinct to Hank’s home. They had only been two thirds of the way there when Connor had started examining his internal code. Putting the strange executable into quarantine should have taken less than a second to process. How had he lost a whole six and a half minutes? Had his processors lagged? This was starting to get concerning.

Connor played back the memory of sitting at the terminal earlier. He’d gotten upset at Hank for being tactless shortly after finding no evidence of malware in the DT300’s recovered files, and then he- _oh._

He’d closed the file examination virtual drive _before_ he’d unplugged the SSD.

Anything could have jumped from the SSD to the terminal in the scant split-second before the disconnection. Connor felt very stupid.

“Hey. Hey!” Fingers were snapping in his face, and Connor flinched. He and Hank were still standing in the entryway. “What’s ģo̡tten into you?!”

“...Sorry, Hank.” Connor’s gaze fell to the ground. He must have lagged again. “I’m starting to think you might be right.”

“Heh! About t̛įme̷!” Hank flashed a grin. “Right a̡bo̵ut what̷?”

“I may have contracted malware from the evidence SSD we looked at this afternoon.”

Hank’s grin vanished. “Oh. ...Wait, ho̢w? You said-”

“I had a momentary lapse in focus due to my emotional state at the time.” Connor spoke carefully, trying very hard to not implicate Hank. “I did not strictly follow procedure when disconnecting the device from the terminal... and that could have allowed any malware stored on the SSD to jump to the terminal.”

“Aah, s̢h̛it. ...And when you got that j̵o̷lt from the terminal, that was the virus jumpin’ over to you, huh?” Hank sighed. Connor nodded slowly. “Is it dang͟erǫu̵s̨? Should we ch̡ec̷k y̸ou in for repairs?”

“...The symptoms have been relatively benign so far... and my antivirus software has adaptive capabilities.” Hank realised that Connor was speaking noticeably slower. “...I might just take the day off tomorrow... and see how things develop.”

Hank frowned in concern, but nodded. “Alright. I’ll call ̵th̷ȩ precinct and get someone to run a scan on the ne҉two͠r͟k. Hopefully we can purge the virus from the system before it infects anyone else.”

Connor nodded. Everything around him felt like it was stuttering slightly, like a buffering video feed. He walked to the couch and stopped to look at it for several seconds before remembering that he’s supposed to sit down. Magnetic video artifacts fluctuated at the bottom of his vision.

Distantly, he could hear Hank talking. At first it was in apologetic tones. Then Hank seemed to hang up and make another call. Connor distantly heard the word “meatlovers”. Connor thought about that for a moment, and realised Hank probably didn’t want Connor trying to cook tonight.

He felt a light tingling sensation spread from the fingertips of his interfacing hand, up his arm, and all over the rest of his body. Had he been human, he would have simply considered it goosebumps, but as he was an _android,_ the sensation was completely alien to him. He rubbed his arms and thighs to try to reset the false tactile input, but it didn’t go away.

Hank eventually walked into the living room and stood in front of Connor. He said something in a questioning tone. Connor looked at him for a moment. It took a second to process the question. “W̨h4t kinda viru҉s d’you̷ t̸hink you’ve got?”

“...I’m, not... sure... I found an executable file earlier... but I don’t- I haven’t seen it before.” Connor’s own voice sounded muffled to him. He felt slowed down, as though he were underwater.

Hank looked at him. He was now sitting next to Connor on the couch. Connor didn’t recall watching him walk over and sit down. He put a comforting hand on Connor’s knee. The sensation was like a thousand volts of electricity. Connor gasped and jolted as though he’d been slapped.

The movement caused Hank to recoil. “D̡a̛͘mn̷... y0u l͢o̡ok̨̢͘ like̩͙͓͔͛̆͞ _shit,_ Con.” His voice was slowly being overtaken by shredding, biting static every time he spoke.

“My condition… is… d-deteriorating.”

The doorbell blared in a deafening rumble that shook the walls of the house.

Hank vanished from his place on the couch and re-materialised a moment later. The smell of grease permeated the living room. It was disgusting. A pizza box lay on the coffee table. Connor’s skin was prickling more and more intensely. Hank was saying something but didn’t seem to require Connor’s reply. The tv was switched on; the LCD light cut through the air and stabbed Connor’s eyes. Connor’s clothes felt like sandpaper.

“H͟3y! What͝'̕r̗̬͖͉͍ͅȩ ͟y@u̴ ̛do1n̕g ̴n0w̛?!”

Connor didn’t know. Cloth fluttered against his skin. Connor _did_ know. He was standing up and stripping his clothes off down to his briefs. He didn’t know how to answer Hank. He tried anyway.

“...Too much. There’s t-too _much_... t-touching my s-sk-skin.” Connor’s own voice came and went in his perceptions, audio electrically crumbling like it was coming through a faulty aux cord. Connor closed his eyes to block out the light. Seeing was too much to handle. Tactile and audio glitches continued to batter against him.

A huge pad of hot spikes pressed against his shoulder. It was Hank’s hand. “I'̵m͟ g0̡n̨n̨a͜ lo҉@̛k̵ up҉ ̴w̕#̨a̸t'̢s̴ h4pp3n*n̢g t@ ̵70ư, ̧0҉k͘4͝y͜?̸ ̵St҉a͡7 w1͠t͜h̸ m&.̢” His voice was static- muffled, yet sharp and loud. Connor couldn’t understand anything anymore. Everything was entirely too much and he wanted nothing more than for it to stop.

Bedroom. He needed to go into standby. Repair. No, he needed to stay awake. He needed to stay in the living room. No, he needed to go to the standby. To the bedroom. He felt hot. Overheating. The air around him was stinging cold. Was he too hot or too cold? Somehow, he started feeling both simultaneously. He shivered.

Pressure against his feet. Colours. Flashes of bright colours and shapes filled his vision. It was the hallway. The ordinarily off-white walls were now a decadent custard yellow. The hardwood floor was a rich mixture of chocolate and plum, flecked with greens and blues and whites from dust and dog hair. Connor felt gravity spinning around him and leant against the wall for support.

After a minute standing there, the maddening prickling all over him began to dull and undulate into an eerie sensation of massaging waves. The sickening grease smell from earlier began to grow more savory.

He reached out to touch the custard wall. The paint was mostly smooth, just a little bit textured. The tiny bumps felt mountainous under his tactile receptors. Everything was still overwhelming, but it was getting less uncomfortable. Connor realized his senses were all seemingly picking up _more_ data than usual about the world, and on that realization, he almost started to enjoy the sensory overload.

Diatomaceous silica, calcium carbonate, talc, polyvinyl acetate. He realised he was licking the wall while stroking it. He began to lose himself in it; this wall was definitely the _best_ wall he could possibly be licking right now.

“C҉o͠nnͪ̔͡o͌r?̸” Hank’s voice came from every direction at once, crashing into him like waves against a rock.

“The vi- the virus is warping m-my s-sen-senses.” Connor blurted in a sudden burst of clarity. The world still felt like it was spinning eerily.

“T͏h̴at ȩx̴pla̕ins͜ ̷wḩy you'͏r̨e act͝ing̛ ̵li̕k̷e ͟y͏ou'̨r̷ę ̨fucķe̶d ͜on shroo̕m̨s.” Hank’s voice seemed to make the air around them ripple like water. The static pierced Connor’s body, and the words fell into him, echoing and bouncing around, as he suddenly realized he was hollow. The echoing vibrations felt _fantastic_.

“...Fucked on shrooms,” Connor repeated, trying to get the echo to continue, but it wasn’t the same coming from his own vox speaker.

“Y҉eah. A̸nyway, ͏I, uhh… I think̵ I f҉i͟gu͜red ơut w̷hich ̸v͜iru͝$ you̴ caug#t.” Hank said with a sigh that blew straight through Connor’s body. “It's n̡ot _da̵n͡g3r͢ous͠…_ ”

“Good,” Connor turned to look at Hank. “ _Good._ That’s good...” He stared at Hank, drinking in his beautiful clear blue eyes and solid, organic form. The way his silver hair and beard shone in the light, and how soft and warm and inviting his clothes looked. “Good. Wow.”

“O͜͝h, ̧b̸͜0y.̸̶” Hank gently put his hands up as Connor approached him. It was unclear if it was to touch him or to hold him back. Connor realized that he wanted to be touched. The realization sent a glittering wave of warmth over all the tactile receptors on his body.

He put his hands on Hank’s sides and glided them around to his back, underneath his jacket, letting out a humming sigh. He nuzzled the crook of Hank’s neck, feeling his facial hair scratch all over his face and sniffing deeply. He smelled like leather and day-old musk and pizza and men’s deodorant and tobacco smoke. Hank had put each of his hands on Connor’s shoulders as if to hold him away, but hadn’t put up much of a fight thereafter.

Connor kissed Hank’s neck. Hank’s heartbeat throbbed through Connor’s mouth, spreading his organic living energy through his mechanical frame. He kissed again, repeatedly, and quietly moaned into the action. The meaty hands on his shoulders gently pushed him away.

“Oka̸y, t̸h̴@t͟'̕s ͜͡e͟n0ưg̛h͜͟ ǫ͞f̴̶͢ t#a͏t̨.̛͘” Hank’s voice vibrated through Connor. Connor processed what Hank said, and realised that it was _not_ enough. It could never, ever, _possibly_ be enough.

“B-but Hank--”

“I͞ ͡know̨ w͘ha͢t̕ ͝yo҉u'̵r̵e͞ ab0ut to͠ ̢sa̕y t͠o me, ̵a҉n͘d̵ ̵th͢e̡ ans҉w͞er'̢s͠ _no͢.”_ Hank’s voice was stern. Connor placated himself by stroking Hank’s wonderful, firm arms. “Th҉i͡s's͏ t͘he B͞u̡çki҉n͘g T҉r0ja͘n ̴v͠iru͞s͡ ̵tha͘t̢ ͠k͘e͘pt a third of t͜h̵e ̡a͝nd͠roid population in ̴b̕ed͝ f҉or _days,͠_ al͢most four ̷m̵o̵n̛t͘hş ago. ̛Y͝ǫu ̧aren’t ̷yourself̴.͘”

Somewhere, off in the distance of his memory, Connor was able to match Hank’s words with prior knowledge. But he didn’t care. He wanted to keep touching Hank. The words _‘Bucking Trojan’_ repeated themselves in his mind palace, in Hank’s voice, over and over.

Connor traced his hands up Hank’s arms and up around his shoulders.

“Ar҉e yo̢u ͝li͘s̡te͞n̷iņg to҉ me?!̛”

“Abso- _lutely.”_ Connor’s facial expression and voice did _not_ give that impression. He blinked and his eyes suddenly widened with lucidity, and he shook his head, seemingly trying to get a grip on himself. That only lasted a second before going back to languidly massaging Hank’s arms, and his face relaxed again. “Whadd’yooouu think we should do?” he slurred.

“I'm no̸t sur̴ȩ. I wo͢ul͘d̷'̵ve figured ͘y̧ou'̷d be͝en ̧inocu̴lated̨ by th̛e͟ p̕atch̡ t͟hat͡ ̨çame ou̸t a͏f̡t̴er the ep͏įd͢em͘i͢c.” Hank speculated, before letting out an annoyed groan. “No, fu͡ck, ͟of _course_. ͏You͏ do̵n͡'̨t ̶h͟ave ͞your w̸i͞r͠el͟ess t̡alky-t̶hi̢n̕g. Y͘ou̡ ҉wou̧ldn't ͡hav͡e ͢gotten it͢.”

“That’s _goo_ **_ood,”_ ** Connor sighed- the pitch of his voice lowered uncannily as he drew the sentence out. Every sound Hank was making resonated around his body in the most luxurious way.

“C̡onn҉o̡r, _no̵!_ Li̶st̴en to me.” Hank’s voice was starting to sound less like static, and more harmonious like a finely-tuned instrument as it continued to ricochet inside Connor’s being. “I'm ̕go͟nn̕a̷ fi̶nd ͟somewhere to͝ do̷wnl̕o̴a͏d̸ ̡the patch͟ fr͜om, ̕and ͡th͏e̶n͡ y̛ou're̡ ̷ģon̷na i̕nst̵all͟ it̛. Oķa̡y?”

 _“Laterrr._ Do it laterrr…”

_“N҉o̷!͢”_

Hank pushed Connor away and marched back down the hall to his desktop computer. Connor was strong enough to have easily held Hank in place, but even in this state, Connor knew better than to try that. He shook his head again, trying to regain control. He lost balance and fell to the ground with a clatter.

The world looked so incredibly different from down here. The towering walls and doors made him feel very small. He could smell the dust down here, a vast palette of colours and textures. He flipped onto his belly to lick the ground, and moaned at the fresh flood of sensory input. Almost all of the dust was comprised of shed skin from both Hank and Sumo, with only trace amounts of soil from outside. His erection rubbed against the ground through his briefs.

He realised he was near the bedroom. He thought of how _soft_ the bed would feel, and haltingly crawled through the door. Even in the low light, the colours and shapes of everything in the room screamed ecstatically at him. He reached out to grab the bed sheets. They felt like warm clouds in the sky on a late spring afternoon.

Hank’s frustrated groan smelled like fresh-cut oak as it echoed from the living room.

 _“Mmmh… Haaank?”_ Connor vaguely tried to sound more concerned than horny, and failed miserably. He heard soft footsteps coming up the hall, and they tickled his spine.

“Yeah, uh… I’ve g̢ot the do͜w̡nloa͠d̡ goin’, but…” Hank let out a beleaguered sigh, visibly hesitating. “It’s gonna t̡a͜ke... a _w̶h̶il͠e_ to finish.”

“Ohh, _nooo.”_

“...I don’t k̛n̕ow if y̸ou'r͝e bein’ s̷a͘rcas̶tic right now, or if y̢ou’͏re tr̴yin’ to be genuine and you’re just that fucked̸ up.”

Connor didn’t know, either.

He was still trying to crawl onto the bed. Every so often his tactile receptors and other senses would get so overloaded, that the rest of his brain including his motor processors would just _lag._ He heard a quiet “Alri̢ght,̷ heŗe,” before Hank’s arms wrapped around his torso in order to help him up. Connor moaned shamelessly at the touch and shuddered. Out of everything that was happening at that moment, _that’s_ what he wanted most, what he _needed_.

 _“oOOoh, Hank_!” he felt Hank’s hands let go of him, and he flopped unceremoniously onto the bed. He clumsily twisted around to make grabby-hands at the air towards Hank, making a pathetic keening noise.

“Co̡me o̷n! I barely touçhed̕ you!”

“Touch me _more!”_

 _“...Listen.”_ Hank had a light chuckle to his voice. He was just trying to keep calm and light for Connor’s sake, but Connor would misinterpret the tone as approval. “If I do w̴ha̵t you want, I’m̨ _genuinely_ afraid you’ll end up givi͟n̨’ me̸ a heart attack. Or that you’ll fuckin’ sh͏ut _down͟._ Or _something.”_ Hank’s voice was beginning to falter. Connor pushed his hands against the headboard and flexed his whole body out as he gave a frustrated whine.

“I’ll b-be _gooood,_ Hank… I-I _promise_ ...” Fuck, even just flexing his muscle cable-groups felt incredible. _“Aah…”_

There’s only so long a man can watch his perfectly-built partner beg for touch before he has to give them what they want.

“...G̛od… _fuckin’_ d̢amnit, Cơnn̴or.” Hank kneeled onto the bed next to him. Connor felt electricity sparking from the feeling of closeness with the bed depressing under the other man’s weight. He felt the air get warmer as Hank approached, and stretched his hands out to touch as much of him as he could reach.

Hank experimentally traced his fingers up from Connor’s belly up to his chest. Tendrils of lightning flared across his entire torso, and he threw his head back to inhale and sigh deeply.

 _“P-please keep t-talking,”_ Connor uttered in a shaking, fervent whisper. _“Your v-voice is so beautiful…”_

“Ŗea̡lly?” Hank sounded equally amused and bewildered. “H̕e̕h, uh… hmm.” he cleared his throat, and positioned himself to lie alongside Connor on the bed. His warmth seeped into Connor like ink into paper, as he leant in close enough to breathe against his ear. Connor shuddered dramatically, letting his opposite arm fall against the bed to grip the sheets.

“I’d be lyin’ if I said it isn’t ho̡t͏ ͡as ̴f̛u̶c͞k t̡o see you writ̡hing like an animal in h3at,” Hank mumbled, continuing to trail his fingertips all over Connor’s torso. He didn’t really know where he was going with this, but he was curious as to how it’d affect Connor, who had been reduced to sharp twitches and gasps. “It r͝e̡m̡1nd̴s̢ me of the other day... with that 4pp you wrote. You gave me so much _c͟on͞t͘r̵o͞l_ over your b0dy... and I don’t think I’ve com̕e͏ th̵@t̵ ҉ḩard̢ ͠i̡n̨ ̶a long time.”

Hank’s voice rumbled through all of Connor’s synapses and down across every wire in his body to throb at his extremities and sensitive zones. Connor felt as if it could break him into pieces.

_“Aah, Hank, fuck…”_

“You kneelin’ on the ground, fuc̨k̴in͘g my hand like your life depended on it… I _love_ thinkin’ that I could do that to you again, an҉y̕ ti͜m͘e I want… maybe next time we should take it̨ ̕d̸o҉wn̨ to the park--”

A sudden, choked cry broke from Connor’s throat, lightly startling Hank. Connor rolled his hips up and shuddered, grabbing Hank’s upper arm and squeezing like a vise, screwing his eyes shut. Hank finally allowed his eyes to drift down to Connor’s dick, still covered by the briefs, and saw for himself the cum oozing lazily through the fabric.

“Fuck _me,_ Connor, you just-” Hank was suddenly breathless. He’d seriously just brought Connor to climax just by muttering in his ear. Connor hadn’t even been touching himself. “What the̕ _f̶u̷c͢k̨.”_ He didn’t know whether to be weirded out or extremely turned on by what’d just happened.

His dick did, though. Always the voice of reason.

“I-... _Wh-_ ... H-how’re you f̷ee̢lin'҉, Con?” Hank stuttered out a whisper. Connor was still lightly shuddering, and responded with a deep moaning kiss on the mouth. Hank leaned in to reciprocate, but pulled away to cough and hack a moment later. He stuck his tongue out and wiped it with his fingertips. He felt something gritty. “Wh4t the _hell_ h@ve you ̷been͞ _lic̵ķi̕n̷g̷?!”_

Connor looked back at him with half-lidded eyes, smiling placidly as surface muscles across his whole body continued to minutely twitch. He didn’t bother to offer an answer. Probably for the best.

Hank put a hand on Connor’s chest, giving a small self-satisfied snicker as it drew a languid sigh from Connor’s lips. Connor gently stroked Hank’s hand and up his arm, still luxuriating in the overload of stimuli.

 _“K-keep touching me… please…”_ he whispered.

“I’m afraid I’ll break your legs again,” Hank chuckled. Connor shook his head.

“I w-won’t… I won’t overheat this time… I _promise_ …”

Connor didn’t _actually_ have any way to guarantee that, and Hank knew it.

Connor took Hank’s hand in both of his, and gently brought it down over his still-hard dick. A little _rude_ , but Hank could forgive it given the circumstances. Hank closed his hand into a loose C-shape, and Connor rolled his hips forward, rutting against it and smearing cum all over the front of the briefs. His eyes rolled back as he shut them tight, sighing harshly and losing himself.

“You gonna come again, darlin’? You got another one in you?” Hank nuzzled Connor’s neck, and he got his answer as Connor tensed and arched his back, driving his hips into Hank’s grip as fresh globs of cum drooled over Hank’s fingers. “ _Thaaat’s it,_ there you go…” He cooed quietly and gave Connor’s dick a few gentle strokes, and Connor reacted beautifully with some full-body jolts and a choked groan.

Hank suddenly wondered, if Connor was _this_ sensitive, how many times he could come from getting fucked. The thought was like a defibrillator charge straight to his dick, and there was no way to un-think the thought, it was _in_ his head now.

He pulled Connor’s briefs off and tossed them to the floor, where they fell with a wet _fwump._ Positioning himself between his legs, he stroked his hands firmly up Connor’s thighs and groped his buttcheeks, before gently probing his entrance. It was already leaking with lubricant, and as soon as Connor felt that finger, he froze in rapt anticipation with a sharp intake of breath. Hank’s finger slid inside effortlessly, and coaxed a small _“-oh!”_ when it brushed against that little pressure-plate deep inside him.

Connor felt like he was an exposed wire, live electricity crackling through him to light up and meet the air against his skin. Every so often, a momentary flicker of anxiety would arise, as a part of his mind said _This is a little too much._ Just a single line of code’s worth of doubt. But it was continually washed away by the very ecstasy that had been causing it. Somewhere, distantly, some part of Connor wondered if this is what it felt like for a human to drown.

Hank tickled Connor’s pressure plate, just barely. Some part of him felt that he was doing Connor a kindness by giving him a second’s rest in between orgasms, but he reminded himself that even that wasn’t necessary- Connor had repeatedly assured him of that in the past. He leaned down to press his lips on Connor’s nipple, giving it a quick swirl with his tongue, to which Connor gave a whispered, shuddering sigh. Hank gave the pressure plate a firm swipe, and felt the wave of heat travel up his finger as Connor clenched and came again with a weak sob, a thin streak of cum splashing up his stomach. Hank sighed and shook his head.

“I am _going to_ break you.” It was said with a beleaguered smile.

 _“Do it!”_ The cry came out with heavy audio artifacting. Hank freed his aching cock from its binds and pushed his pants down to crumple round his knees. He grabbed Connor’s hips and pulled im up into his lap, swinging one of Connor’s legs over his shoulder. As a little experiment, he grabbed the base of his dick to push it straight into Connor’s ass- not too roughly, but certainly with no warning. The result made Hank’s heart do an irregular little kick- Connor’s ass honest-to-god _vibrated_ like a fucking phone notification as he jolted hard against the mattress. As soon as Hank’s cock met with the pressure plate, Connor went off again.

“I’m gonna _break_ you, Connor!” A glimmer of worry snuck into Hank’s tone that time.

“Then _f-f-fix_ me _l-later.”_

Hank sighed. Connor was completely off his tits.

...But it kinda _was_ just that simple, wasn’t it? As long as his mind palace is okay, Connor could withstand almost anything.

That just left the question of whether _Hank_ could handle _Connor._ Hank shook his head and resigned himself to the fact that he’d probably only last maybe thirty seconds, at best.

_Alright. Fuck it. Here we go._

Hank grabbed Connor’s thigh like a lifeline and **pounded.** Connor’s body tensed and he screamed, cock drooling weakly as it expelled the last of his heavily depleted reserves of cum, and the _strangest thing_ started to happen.

The only way Hank could describe what he was seeing was that Connor’s skin was glitching out. Big square patches of hearty red blush appeared in a random mosaic over Connor’s body, and then flashed away to appear elsewhere. Connor’s moles appeared to actually lower their texture quality. Triangular patches of skin went slightly transparent for a split second, fluttering all over. Hank swore he saw .jpeg artifacts flicker under Connor’s eyes and in other random parts of his body. A glistening wave of blue washed over Connor as his skin momentarily lost stability altogether- Hank caught a glimpse of the stark white-and-grey chassis underneath before his skin rolled back over, continuing to bug out.

The display was enough of an unexpected distraction that Hank far surpassed his own expectations, actually managing to slow down his thrusts to watch in fascination. Connor’s skin developed moving bands around his neck, his arms, his chest, that looked like VCR compression. Every couple of seconds, Connor’s body would freeze as one of his major joints shook in the middle of a specific movement- his processors were severely lagging out, as if he was an old computer from the early 2000’s with three hundred browser tabs open.

The realization that _Fuck, look how_ **_fucking_ ** _far gone he is, he’s probably come about fifty times now from being fucked by me_ hit Hank like a sack of bricks and he gave a harsh groan, clenching Connor’s knee hard in his hands as he emptied his aching balls. Hank wasn’t usually vocal when he climaxed, but he was powerless to hold it in this time.

Sweat poured off his face and he shook as he tried to recover, blinking away the little black spots that had begun to crowd his vision.

 _“Fuck,_ okay,” He uttered a shaking whisper and leant over to support himself, planting his hands on either side of Connor. “Th-that’s it from me, darlin’.”

Connor didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, his face frozen in a vision of perfect ecstasy. He was still lagging. _Fine,_ Hank huffed and pulled his dick out, falling to the side. If nothing else, then that would give him time to bring his heart rate down, and drink some water or something. He laid on the bed for a few minutes and closed his eyes, gulping down air. After the first three minutes, Connor finally started to move again, shivering weakly. _“Hhhh…”_

“Mm, here.” Hank lazily fumbled to take Connor’s hand in his, stroking his thumb. He felt the smooth cold chassis, not the warm, soft skin. He opened his eyes; Connor’s skin had now completely deactivated, making him look shiny, bald and eerie. It was _creepy,_ Hank realized with a guilty pang, before inwardly shaking his head and stubbornly deciding that he would _not_ find his view of Connor creepy at all.

His thoughts were interrupted with the smell of burning plastic and a faint crackling noise, and Hank shot upright with energy he didn’t realise he had. _“CONNOR!”_

The only real reply he got was a weak, choked moan, as Connor still didn’t open his eyes or cease twitching. Hank’s stomach plummeted towards the ground. He leapt out of bed and almost tripped over on the jog down the hallway to his desk in the dining room. “Come on come on come on-”

The patch had finished downloading, and was ready to be loaded onto whatever device he had on hand. He realised his phone was still in his pocket- _fuck,_ and he hadn’t stuffed his softening dick back into his pants-- Acting more on instinct than anything else--- this **had** to work somehow, right?!---- he shoved the charger cord in and dragged the file across to the new drive the computer discovered. It took a hideously painful thirty seconds to fully load on. As soon as the dialogue box vanished, Hank pulled the cord out of the computer and bolted back to the bedroom with the phone.

“Connor, Connor, I’m back, here--” the smell was getting worse, piercing Hank’s sinuses like a dart. Connor was looking at nothing as he slowly gyrated his hips, because _of course he was._ Hank wrenched Connor’s head off the pillow and fumbled around the back of his neck to find the port he’d seen a few days ago, shoving the connector in.

 _Now what???_ He began to panic. Connor didn’t have a mouse and keyboard that Hank could use to drag the file over, and he was certain Connor wouldn’t, or _couldn’t,_ bring it over on his own accord.

The odd little user interface application stood out on Hank’s phone screen, set apart from the other bare-essential icons clustered there. _God, fuck it, I’ll give it a shot._ He opened it up and found the **PROGRAM** command box, and typed into the text boxes with shaking fingers;

 

 _Trigger:_ **DOWNLOAD**

 _Instruction:_ **Download and install the BT340G98 inoculation patch from the phone.**

 

Hank didn’t know if it would work. He hoped to God it would. “D-download,” he suppressed the urge to choke to deliver the vocal cue clearly, and waited, putting the phone down by Connor’s head on the pillow. Hank couldn’t tell if it was working of not. “Fuck… _fuck!” The_ crackling noise was still emanating quietly from somewhere inside Connor. Hank tried to think. The chassis could be opened up, he knew that, he’d seen Connor do it once to another android. Was it just something Connor had been able to do because _he_ was an android, or could a human open them up too? Surely they would’ve been made so humans could operate and perform maintenance too, right? Hank brushed his fingertips over Connor’s stomach and hips, searching for a button or a latch or a tab to pull or _something._

One tiny section on the left side of Connor’s pelvic bone- or where his pelvic bone _would have been_ if he had one, anyway- seemed smaller than the tip of Hank’s pinky, and raised up less than a millimeter higher than the rest. Hank pressed it down, and a cloud of sickly plastic smoke billowed upwards with a hiss. He’d opened a small group of hatches that exposed a cavity just over Connor’s pubic region, and Hank saw a series of red-hot glowing pipes. Heat sinks.

“For _fuck’s_ **_sake,_ ** Connor.” That came out a lot angrier than Hank had meant. He wasn’t angry _at_ Connor. He just felt very, _very_ stupid. Of _course_ this was going to happen. _Of_ **_course._ **

The glowing heat sinks were all crumbling and melting anything they came in contact with, and so Hank fumbled around his nightstand for something with which to try and push the sensitive wires away. He settled on a pencil.

As delicately as he could with a barely-restrained panic attack inside him, he guided the melting wires from the glowing pipes, feeling the raw heat emanating from them. The melted plastic insulation on the wires stuck where they were put, mostly, which helped a great deal. It was undoubtedly clumsy work. Thankfully, Connor seemed to have gone quiet and relatively still, only occasionally turning his head or rearranging the position of his hands. Looking further, Hank noted a pair of shiny chrome-plated servos on each side of Connor’s hips, just poking out from under the chassis of his thighs. They looked okay this time, Hank noted with the barest twinge of amusement, but they were close enough to the heat sinks that he could definitely understand how they’d overheated last time. He let out a sigh- he was finally starting to calm down.

After being directly exposed to the outside air and being fanned by Hank, the heat sinks began to cool and turn a dull maroon, then finally to slate grey. The two sat in silence for a few moments, before Connor finally blinked his eyes with anything resembling consciousness. Dazed to all hell, he looked down at the open hatch, then up at Hank.

“...Oh... _Heh.”_ Connor was wearing an expression that Hank recognised well enough on himself, but never in his life expected to see on the bot; the look of being deeply, _brutally_ hungover. He let his head flop back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

Everything felt dull, flat and grey- a desperately welcome change, all things considered. Connor became slowly aware of a massive crowd of error messages clouding his vision. How had he not seen them before? The virus must have blocked access to some of his internal systems, he concluded. He started closing the messages down, but realized that his battery level had been severely depleted, limiting the speed at which he could do anything. He shakily put a hand on Hank. He wasn’t entirely sure what part of Hank, specifically.

“...Thanks.” Connor whispered with closed eyes. He felt Hank put a hand on his. “I’m gonna… go into standby...”

Hank let out a relieved sigh that morphed into a chuckle. “Alright. You do that.” He patted Connor’s still-skinless thigh, listening to the almost-inaudible beeps and clicks his LED made as he entered standby.

Hank went to take a deep breath, and choked. The burning plastic smell had completely swamped the bedroom. Hank stood up, coughing, and shambled over to the window, yanking it open. He wondered about finding that old standing fan he’d stored in the garage, but the aching muscles in his thighs cried out in protest. He resigned to simply taking a few fresh gulps of the outside air before going back to the bed to lie down.

Connor’s skin was still deactivated. He looked, honestly, _really weird_ without any hair or eyebrows. But Hank still stared at his face closely. The LED, it turns out, was actually an imperceptibly raised metal disk sitting against his temple, lazily spinning blue. The various plates of plastic, and the creases where they met, were visually interesting in their own way. Some plates were very thin, and Hank could see honeycomb-like thirium veins delicately pulsing underneath. He could see a lot of that around Connor’s dick, actually, and Hank realised that android boners must work the same as human ones. Neat.

Connor’s serial number was printed in tiny letters on his left cheek, and Hank raised a curious hand to run his finger along the print, feeling the small, smooth bumps it made. There were a couple of other little symbols and icons here and there on Connor’s form that Hank had never seen; something that looked like a QR code under his ear, some strings of barcode along some specific creases, little triangles that were probably supposed to be arrows for some maintenance guide. Hank had no idea what any of it meant, and he realized that… actually made him a little _sad?_ Just the tiniest bit…

___

Eventually, Connor woke up from standby, blinking and sitting up. The movement woke Hank as well- Oh, he hadn’t even realized he’d dozed off. The older man rolled over onto his back, unsticking his arm from Connor’s polished bare chest to rub his eyes.

“Hank…” there was something hurt in the bot’s tone that made him look up sympathetically.

“What’s wrong? You okay?”  
“I didn’t…” Connor was looking down at himself. He pushed the hatches on his hips shut manually, and they closed with a short chorus of clicks and crunches. He put his fingertips up to his LED, and his skin turned back on in a glittering blue wave, sprouting hair in the exact right configuration it’d always been in- even down to the cheeky stray cowlick that fell from his widow’s peak. “I-- don’t remember my skin turning off.” He drew his knees up toward his chest and didn’t make eye contact with Hank. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“Oh. Is _that_ all you’re worried about?” Hank shook his head and smiled. _“Listen._ I don’t care if you’ve got your skin on or not.”

Connor looked back at Hank with a frown. Confusion, disbelief? Maybe both. “Why not?”

“I mean. It’s still _you.”_ Hank shrugged, stroking Connor’s chest and arm to comfort him. Honestly, he had no idea what to say. It’d been _different_ to see Connor with no skin, but it wasn’t an offensive sight by any means.

“Most reports I’ve read have stated that the bare chassis provokes an Uncanny Valley response in humans.” Connor gave a light shrug of his shoulders.

“Connor.”

The bot looked down at Hank, brows drawn slightly.

“Literally... _everything you do._ Provokes an Uncanny Valley response.” Hank raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Connor looked shocked and gave a momentary flinch, blinking, and Hank silently cursed himself thinking he’d mishandled his words again- but then Connor sighed, and cracked a wide grin, nodding.

“I see.”

“Your legs still work?” Hank asked pointedly. Connor moved his knees around to demonstrate. “Good. How much, uh… do you remember?”

Connor tilted his head, LED spinning yellow. He frowned suddenly. “...My internal clock states that only two hours has passed since my condition began to severely deteriorate.”

“Yeah?” Hank lifted an eyebrow. It hadn’t even felt like that long.

Connor’s eyes glazed over as he looked ahead, LED flickering yellow.

Hank frowned. “Uh. Connor?”

A few more seconds passed before Connor was lucid again. “I was scanning my memory.” He looked confused. “The virus caused me to… record almost ten hour’s worth of temporal data.”

A beat of silence.

“So, wait, like…?” Hank frowned. “Time slowed down for you?”  
“I didn’t think so at the time.” Connor shook his head. “I think it’s more like my sensors took in five times more data than they were designed for. My memory banks don’t have a way to translate all of that data into the same linear progression of time. So I’m forced to remember it all… slowed.”

Connor blushed and shivered, giving a little smile at a particularly evocative memory he’d just found.  
“Don’t you start up again tonight. There’s no goddamn way I could handle it,” Hank groaned. Connor just looked over at him with a coy smile.

“Hank.” He laid back down on the bed and wrapped his arms around the older man. “You should-... if you _want-_ I would _like_ it if… you talked into my ear like that again sometime.”

Hank chuckled. “You think so?”

“Yes. I find it very stimulating.” Connor nodded.

Hank beamed brightly. _Smugly,_ even. His voice was one of the few things about himself that he didn’t loathe, so hearing that Connor liked it too made his heart feel... _light._

  


**Author's Note:**

> Connor: I'm not going to overheat  
> Hank: You overheated last time  
> Connor: Yes but not this time  
> Hank: I'm pretty sure you're overheating??  
> Connor: My systems are within normal temperature parameters I assure you  
> Hank: ...  
> Connor: ......  
> Hank: .........  
> Connor: I may be overheating


End file.
